


toxic

by floralshoppe



Category: Casey Frey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Food Poisoning, Poison, and taketh away my braincells, the lord giveth me too much power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 11:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17446004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralshoppe/pseuds/floralshoppe
Summary: "You're toxic, I'm slipping under.."following the twitter post saying "open rp: you live with casey frey in his elaborate & secluded victorian manse in the year of 1847, and he is slowly losing his mind from lead poisoning" please enjoy :)





	toxic

Your hands are shaking.

 

From the other room you can hear Cathasaigh, your Casey, from the other room. His footsteps are hard and sure as he paces across the room. If you listen closely you can hear him murmuring his own verses to himself.

“Fourteen bars...fourteen bars...fourteen seconds...I can do it...”

 

You shake your head. Once a great poet, your heart aches as you watch his mind deteriorate. You knew the lead poising would take complete hold of his mind at some point, that it was if anything a blessed given in comparison to the unfortunate deaths, the diseases, the fevers that swam across the country these days. It didn’t make the pain of it less sharp.

Your mind cuts to the memory of last sabbath, where he was asked to read a sermon. You can still see the redness of his cheeks, the blurriness of his eyes, his cheeks that he refused to let you shave. You still remember those retched words—“ _Rub me the right way! Rub me the right way!”_

 

You shake your head in shame, desperately trying to erase the images from your mind. Your palm sweat as you stare hard at the lye in front of you. You love Cathasaigh, more than you love Heaven and the many many men who resided there. You know he deserves a death better than this, a mind more peaceful than any childhood from any golden spoon.

So yes, your hands are shaking, but you force yourself to find resolve as you stir three spoonfuls of lye into his wine, twisting the spoon between your thumb and index finger like a rosary. It makes you think back to the sermon, before the outburst, the solemn face of the pastor.

“ _Blessed are the merciful_ ,” he’d said, “ _for they will be shown mercy._ ”

As you called Casey to the dining area, and you hear him stumble towards you, it plays upon your mind like a mantra.

_‘Blessed are the merciful, blessed are the merciful, blessed are the merciful,’_

 

Will God understand? Will God truly show you mercy?

  
You don't look up when Casey kisses your cheeks in delight, when he takes the poisoned wine from your loose hands. You don't look when he sips, and then grunts, and must clearly taste the sour alkaline tear against his unsuspecting throat.

Your face feels like the devil is glaring at it from all angles, like you have already fallen into the recesses of hell.

“What’s wrong, my lamb?”

“Nothing, of course.” you strike back quickly, desperate to pull your mind back together.

“Dear, I have just written a sonnet and you must listen at once!”

You finally look up, staring at the shimmering excitement in his eyes. It pains you to know you’ll never see it again, but it gives you to force to put all your love into your smile.

“Really? Please do tell it to me.”

His face goes serious, as it usually does before he recites something, but suddenly he is sitting his cup down and reaching carefully for your hand. There's a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“My dearest lady, you will have to excuse me, but may you please do me the honor of letting me serenade you?”

Your eyes must be so obviously glassy by now, but you continue anyway. “And what do I get out of this?”

“Hopefully, you’ll get the urge to fall in love with me forever.”

You laugh, waving your hand to tell him to go, and he clears his throat again.

“A poem of five bars. _Yes_ —five bars within five seconds:

 _Lo! .. Yes.._  
_Cinema enema feminine fenema,_  
_Hawk venom and cinnamon!_  
_Eminem meddlin melanin—no melanin;_  
_Middle men—all men are friends,_ ”

You can’t help the tears that streak down your face now.

No sooner had he finished the verse, head barely lowered in a bow, you watched his body stiffen and drop down at once.

You fell back into his seat in hysterics, the cup of wine sat in front of you as the biggest reminder of your sins. Eventually you hear the sound of a maid shuffle in, her shrieks of horror and worried hands passing between you and Lord Casey as if she couldn't figure which wound to take care of first.

No matter what, you couldn't speak, couldn't get the air to flow through your clogged throat. All you could do is stare at the half empty cup of wine sat in front of you.

**Author's Note:**

> please kudos and comment to show your support!!! thanks
> 
> ps i know no one cares but i'm aware that lye poisoning takes much longer and is much more painful i wrote this in an hour please bghjdkhg


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